A Sketch In Black And White
by S4ltv1n3g4r
Summary: 20 years after being rescued from the island, Jack and Ralph meet again. Pitted against each other, who will force the other to hear him out? Will anarchy or order prevail? Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord Of The Flies. A/N: Can you believe I actually turned this in as an English project?**

In the morning, the cop would bring Jack Merridew his breakfast and ask him nicely for a confession, and in the afternoon, the very same cop would whack him around the face and try to force it out of him. Then he would apologize for his "comrade's" behavior and try to comfort the hardened criminal. Then he would taunt him and prod him with a police baton and ask him how it felt to be the victim for once.

This wasn't the first time Jack had been taken into custody. He'd escaped enough times to make himself a legend in the world of crime. He'd seen the "good cop, bad cop" routine before, and wondered if this intelligence agency didn't know that they needed two _different_ cops to make it work.

Or maybe the officer suffered from multiple personality disorder. It made Jack laugh a little inside to think that someone was worse off than he was.

Lying in his pitiful holding cell, he felt empty. Empty because he'd been refusing meals—he'd sooner have lived off raw coconuts and roast suckling pig, island food. Empty because he'd lost a lot of blood—his leather jacket was crusted with the stuff, and his nose was bloody after he beatings he'd endured at the hands of the bipolar policeman.

His pockets also felt empty, as he'd been stripped of his firearms.

To the law enforcement, Jack was nothing but a savage. He ran a large mafia that was determined to tear apart higher society. His organization's latest crime was the murder of twelve civilians with a gas explosion on a city block. It was disgusting, despicable.

What nobody understood was, behind the mischief, misinformation, arson, and assault, Jack Merridew was a devious and manipulative puppet-master with a vision. Being stranded on an island for weeks upon weeks as a child had left his sanity addled but his mind sharp. He now worked to create a new world, a giant deserted island where only the strong survived and people couldn't afford to be sheep, slaves to commercialism and television.

The first step to creating a new world was destroying the old one.

Sometimes, for Jack, getting captured was just another part of the plan. The police force wasn't even sure what to think of taking him in anymore.

Jack wasn't sure, either, whether or not his capture would serve him some purpose, but he would know soon enough.

The officer dragged him dragged him down a narrow corridor into an ominous interrogation room with a bright lamp and a steel door and desk, kneed him hard in the side, and cuffed him to the desk, obviously in his "bad cop" mode. A dark-suited interrogator pushed through the door and past the officer, prying him off of the suspect before he could inflict any more pain. "That's enough," said the interrogator. "Stop it, Eric."

Jack started in his uncomfortable suspect's chair. _Eric?_

Then the good cop must be Sam.

Samneric, from the island tribe. Jack felt like he was going to vomit.

That was before he even got a good look at the interrogator, who carried that same professional air he'd had since childhood. Acid burned in Jack's throat as he glared at the man, hating him and his gelled-back hair and monkey suit, the signs of normalcy, conformity, and the shocked look of recognition on his face. It was a miracle that Jack was able to keep his composure, and being stuck to the desk helped stifle his impulse to attack. "Surprised to see me?" he smirked.

To say that Jack Merridew was a mess would be a complete understatement. He was a macabre sight, covered in blood: Eric had really wanted his revenge for the events that had transpired on the island those ages ago. Ralph, the interrogator, didn't feel the same way. He didn't hold grudges.

What he saw before him was a victim of the absence of order.

Jack glared at Ralph through two thin slits of eyes. Under one of them was a chilling scar that ran down his face and made him appear even more menacing.

On the black-and-white "wanted" posters pinned up around the city, Jack was a ghost of the past, but in person, he was dangerous: he looked like he might lash out and kill Ralph if he wasn't chained to the desk.

"My God, it's really you," Ralph breathed in astonishment.

"The same to you, old friend," sneered Jack. "I expect you think you can make me confess now?"

"Merridew, we know beyond a reasonable doubt that you caused that explosion."

"And now you think you can make me talk," Jack mused. "Find out if it was part of a bigger operation, or just crazy me, killing a few people because I think it's so blooming fun."

"We're not stupid, Jack," said Ralph. "We know you're up to something."

_But we don't know what_, Ralph thought, _and that is where he, unfortunately, has the advantage._

"Yes, you don't know what, do you?" Jack taunted as if he'd read Ralph's mind. "You have no idea why I do this." Ralph cringed. How very unnerving.

He shouldn't be intimidated by a criminal. He was the law now, he had the conch, permanently, but something about Jack's determination set him apart from other terrorists.

"And even if you knew exactly _what_ and _why_, could you really stop me?" Jack continued, letting slip maniacal giggles under his breath.

"Cut the small talk, Jack. You can either give us what we want to know, or get a life's sentence," Ralph threatened.

Jack kept on laughing. He didn't need to say that he wasn't afraid of jail, and Ralph wasn't doubtful that he would escape within weeks of being sentenced.

"What would you do without me, Ralph?" Jack asked. "Without all of us you call evildoers? What would happen to you if there were none of us? Your little system would be obsolete."

Jack intended to eliminate the law, one way or another. That much was slowly becoming clear to Ralph.

"I'll tell you what you'll do if you somehow manage to stop me for good. You'll go back to your little desk job, your suburbs and your peaceful, pathetic life, your pathetic little family…"

"Don't you _dare_ bring my family into this," Ralph growled. Jack continued as though uninterrupted.

"You'll continue being nothing, another one-task module in a system that's enslaved us all. Imagine, Ralph, imagine hunting elk in the deserted streets of London, climbing vines up the Big Ben."

Jack was suggesting anarchy. The dissolving of organization. No more conch. And he was trying to persuade Ralph to join him, offering him power that couldn't be obtained in any system.

Anarchy.

_Come to the dark side, Ralph…_

Ralph had resisted once. Could he do it again?

"I've heard enough. Sam, Eric, take him away," said Ralph.

As he exited the interrogation room, he spared one final glance backwards into Jack's cold, smirking slits of eyes.

He had to get out of that room, clear his mind, and forget everything he'd just heard…but it was something he couldn't easily ignore. Even when he pushed it out of his thoughts, it would still linger. Jack had planted a bomb in Ralph's subconscious, and it was just dying to go off.


End file.
